A Gift Of Generations
by ArwenJaneLilyLyra
Summary: This is the story of a rug. It may not speak, but it listens. And it has stories...so many stories. Here is the story of the rug that resides in the Potter's humble abode. From generations ago, to our hero's children.


A Gift Of Generations

A rug. An antique rug at that; bought nearly two hundred years prior to the birth of The Chosen One. The first Potter to step upon it was a Mrs Henrietta Potter. It had been a gift from her husband, Michael, who had seen her admiring it not three weeks before their anniversary. It was brand new then, the red and gold woven into it screamed Gryffindor, as well as the small lion faces that you would only notice if you lay flat on it and stared at the finer detail for long enough. Henrietta – Hetty for short – had stood on it for close to half an hour, adoring every detail, and the way the soft material felt on her bare feet, having taken off her shoes to touch it – it was just too precious to walk on with shoes, or even socks.

It was on this rug that, thirteen years later, the second daughter of Henrietta and Michael Potter, Julia Graveshaw nee Potter, stood, shouting at the top of her lungs for her parents to come down. She had news to tell them. She was still stood on the same rug when she announced in her loudest, proudest voice "I'm pregnant." This was the rug that caught the tears of both mother and daughter as Henrietta first considered being a grandmother.

A further three years later, Julia's brother Henry stood on the hallway, waiting for his mother to come and kiss him goodbye before he set off for a date with the woman he was planning to propose to that night. It was on this rug that he fumbled with the box and the ring fell out. By a stroke of inevitable bad luck, the ring was gold with a ruby stud – it took him twenty minutes to find the ring. His nerves were so high he had forgotten he would have been able to find it with the simple wave of his wand.

The daughter of Julia and Greg Graveshaw stood on this rug eight years later, shouting to her Nana Potter and Papa Potter that she had finally received her Hogwarts letter. Her dark gold curls bounced around her cherub features as she danced, playing hopscotch on the large circular shapes that patterned the rug. By now, the rug was a dusty, and one corner was the tiniest bit frayed. But still, old Hetty loved the rug. When Michael Potter finally laid to rest forevermore, his last thought was of the rug, and how happy it had made his wife so many years ago.

When Oliver Potter occupied the house once his parents had died, the first thing his wife said was how thrilled she was that the rug was still there. Her first memory of being brought to meet the couple that would one day become her in-laws was of stepping onto the rug and exclaiming profusely what a splendid rug it was. And now it belonged to her. Trish Potter beamed as she stepped onto it in her dark red high heels, the first step she made into her new home.

Years later, the rug had lost a little of its colouring. Mr Potter asked if it needed replacing, to which his wife removed her shoe and threw it at him for a reply. "I take it that's a no then?" he asked good naturedly, kneeling down to run a hand over the material. He had known he could never throw this rug out. He had grown up with it, it was part of the house now.

No more than two years later, a young woman stood on the rug. Her belly stuck out in front of her, signalling she was very close to giving birth, and her smile shone with the same glow that often illuminated an expecting mother's face. She laughed good naturedly as her husband stood listening to his mother drone on and on about how they don't visit nearly enough, and that they should come back next week. The younger Mrs Potter was about to point out that, with any luck, next week she would be in St Mungo's with a new born baby. It was almost in that exact moment that she felt a trickling sensation down her leg and she gasped. Her husband froze as she began shrieking at him to take her to hospital before…but no. There was no way Mrs Olivia Potter was going to make it to St Mungo's, the baby was going to have to be born in the house. On this very rug, at that. In too much pain to move, she allowed her mother-in-law to lay a large towel down on the ground for her as she cried in pain. Her husband held her hand, no help whatsoever. And so her child was born.

When Ryan Potter was told he was born on the rug in his grandparent's house, he happened to be stood on the rug at the time. He leapt off it in disgust, staring down with mid-teen horrified eyes, praying that his mother was only joking. Of course, she wasn't. When he later moved into the house, he shuddered as he first walked over it. But when his mother finally died, the sight of the rug became a form of comfort.

Alice Potter didn't give birth on the rug. However, it was on this rug that her long term boyfriend proposed to her. It was on this rug she said yes. It was on this rug she kissed him more passionately than she ever had done in her life. It was on this rug she finally realised quite how in love she was.

This rug was the place where the very same Alice Potter stood, tears gliding down her face as she stared at her husband, a clear bottle of potion in her hand. The potion was bright blue, and seemed to shine in the semi-darkness. This was the rug where Alice told her husband, Ryan, she was pregnant, finally, after so many years of heartbroken failure. Despite her age, she was going to have a baby. This was the rug where they agreed simultaneously to call the child Amy if it was a girl, and James if it was a boy.

It turned out to be a boy – James. This was where a young man of sixteen years of age collapsed, his body aching and his whimpers quiet. It was James Potter who helped his best friend stand shakily. The rug was spattered with blood, but nobody bothered about that. By the time the young man, Padfoot, his nickname was, had recovered, the marks were forgotten. They were merely an addition to the collection of stains that had spread across the rug in all the years it had been situated there.

This was the rug where James Potter died. His father had been born on it, and he had died on it. Some would call it poetic. Here was where James Potter drew his final breath, shouted his last words, before the jet of green light drove into his chest and the wizard known as Voldemort laughed cruelly.

This was the rug where Sirius Black, his body in the form of a large dog, padded softly up to the lifeless form of his best friend, nudging it gently, willing it to move. This was where the dog curled up into the man's left side, desperate to fall asleep to the sound of a heartbeat. But he didn't. And this was the rug the human form of Sirius Black stood on as he told a large man named Hagrid that he should be the one to look after his own Godson.

This is the rug Harry Potter stood on as he contemplated living in a war-free world for once. He stood holding hands with two people – one a young man with red hair and an array of freckles, the other a young woman with bushy hair and tears shining in her eyes. This was where Harry Potter allowed himself to cry one last time over the pain of losing everyone. His parents, his Godfather, Remus, Fred, Tonks…_everyone_. The rug caught his tears as his knees buckled underneath him and he fell to the ground. The trio sat on the rug, hands still interlinked. It was on the rug they finally healed.

Though much of the house was rebuilt, the rug remained. Something told Harry it should be left. Though Ginny Potter was usually against such old fashioned things, she agreed it was special. They kept it in the hallway.

It was here that Teddy Lupin took his first few shaky steps, laughing and shouting with delight as he clapped his hands together in pride. Harry caught him as he tried to jump up and down and nearly fell, and on the rug Harry placed Teddy on his feet and showed him how to dance for the first time, bringing the infant great amusement that lasted over an hour.

It was on the rug James and Albus Potter first declared they hated one another; James unable to forgive Albus for being a Slytherin, and Albus unable to forgive James' narrow-minded comments. It was here Ginny Potter was brought close to tears at the prospect of her family being torn apart by house prejudices. But still, it was here the two boys – now young men – hugged for the first time in years, putting their past behind them and forgetting old arguments in time for their little sister's seventeenth birthday.

It was on this rug that Lily Potter threw up, supported by her big brother James, as she regretted ever trying that dreaded Firewhiskey the night before. It was on this rug she first experienced the pangs of a true hangover. It was here James chuckled at his little sister, ruffling her hair condescendingly at her innocence.

It was on this rug that Scorpius Malfoy waited, feeling more than a little uncomfortable, as he waited for his date, Lily Potter, to come down the stairs. It was here he fell in love with Harry Potter's daughter. It was on this rug he disregarded everything he thought he considered important in life – Malfoy pride, Slytherin honour, purity of blood. It was here he first told Lily Potter she was beautiful. Not cute, not sexy, not hot – beautiful.

And still the rug is there. It has seen a lot, and still if you look closely enough, you can see the little lion faces amongst the finer details. It's a little frayed, and the colour is stained and worn in places, but it's still beautiful.

No doubt Henrietta Potter would be proud.

* * *

**Now, I know there my be timeline issues here, but I never said I was perfect. I hope you enjoyed my little oneshot and maybe would consider giving it a review. Many thanks, _arwenjanelilylyra_ x**


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